Love and Bruises
by Dreams-of-Red
Summary: Carroll is a young woman caught in the dangerous world of drug dealing in the slums. She runs into Vincent one day on the street...Will her love for him be enough to save her?
1. The Stranger

AN: Hello, hello. ^^ This is a prequel to my fanfic, The Darker Side of my Heart. You don't really have to read it to know what's going on, but I would suggest it, since it would make this fic more interesting, seeing as it is focused on an original character. The Darker Side of my Heart is more focused on Vincent, so you might want to detour and read that first. In any case, enjoy the fic!  
  
Darker Still...  
  
Shutter  
  
Red Savior  
  
Burning Down Forever  
  
A Flash, and Blind Sweetness.  
  
The streetlamps were blurred, and the street was darker then it should have been, for all of these damn yellow hanging orbs of light. The light-haired girl was crying as she walked. She never got very far like this. She had sworn to walk away into the night, to travel the dark streets until she found somewhere of light and warmth. Somewhere that glowed with love. She always got a few hours away, then turned back, tired and cold, feet hurting and just wanting to crawl back into her warm bed. Knowing that if she passed out *she* would yell at her for making them come to find her.  
  
~Mother...sometimes the girl feels she doesn't deserve that name.~  
  
Her mother hated her. It seemed like that, at least. This time it was a fight at school. The girl was always getting picked on, and she had learned how to hit from her mother, who was also always hitting her. She had a bruise on her cheek, the boy had hit her first, after she had insulted him. Boys were always rough with her. Maybe it was just something about the way she acted. Trailer trash upbringing coming through the innocence. Leaving it's imprint on pale skin.   
  
~Blueprints to bruises in her future.~  
  
She turned around and started the long walk back home, hoping she made it before the sun rose, and he mom got up for work. Or was tonight a Friday? She couldn't remember. She shrugged, and rubbed her eyes, leaving them red, but dry. She wouldn't cry any more tonight.  
  
* * *  
  
Years later, she would reflect on that night, from years ago, as she sat in the bar of one of the clubs she frequented. She was innocent then. And now... She had left her mother in the dust, when she dropped out of high school in 11th grade. She had woven beween various minimum wage jobs during the day. They would usually last a few months, before her numerous addictions got the better of her, and she stopped going, on the mornings when her head felt like the needles she shot into her arm the night before. A worse pain.   
  
Sometimes she rented a little apartment, dingy, falling apart, roach infested. The landlady knew her. She kept the space open, but thats about all she did. When she couldn't pay the month's rent she ended up on the street, or on a series of couches or futons, in the homes of near-strangers. The night took care of it's own, but always for a price. She found herself sleeping with men she hated. Disgusting, low dealers, who had nothing in their favor but drugs. But that was all she wanted from them.   
  
By night she thought it was all worth it. She thought, through the warmth and color of a good trip, that it didn't matter. In the grey morning, waking up with a hangover and no idea of where she was, she hated herself for the addiction. Hated this life. But she would just sigh, and light another cigarette.  
  
She was watching the people dance on the dance floor. She danced, occasionally, too. But only when asked. She never liked it too much. The press of people, frantic in their passion and demise.. At least here it could be iced over. Here where the music touched, but allowed the people to remain still in their thoughts.   
  
She was staring down at a drink, through a veil of grey smoke, that always reminded her of morning in the city. Some would have said beautiful, but beauty of a tragic kind, pale with her hair dyed black and cut short, spiked up severely. She wore a little too much dark makeup, and too little clothing for the tempature of the club, and the evening outside. Her thoughts were interrupted as she was joined by another.  
  
"Carroll, babe. Thought I'd find you here."  
  
She tossed a gaurded, sultry look over her shoulder at the man. She knew the voice all too well, even before she got a glimpse of that messy red hair. It was dyed the shade of cherries, and fell over his eyes as he grinned broadly. His lips were painted black, and he was wrapped in chains, spikes, and black leather. He was maybe 4 or 5 years older then Carroll, and liked her. Or at least, he liked using her. She didn't really know if there was any difference.  
  
"Judas. What do you want?"  
  
Carroll was always cool around men. Put up the facade of hard-to-get even though it was obvious she was just a slut. It just caused him to grin more, Judas liked a challenge.   
  
"I got something in the other day for you."  
  
She looked at him a bit suspiciously, her deep purple eyes glittering with natural distrust, and need. Mike had come through for her before, but he was too young. Deals fell apart a lot around him, he was reckless. Didn't give a shit, even when it caught up to him in cuts and bruises. He always smiled. She shrugged.  
  
"Oh yeah?"  
  
"Yeah. You have any money?"  
  
He tilted his head to one side. Judas was almost clean, it gave him the edge he needed to manipulate other's addictions, even though he wasn't very good at what he did. Carroll didn't know where the money he made went to, he lived in the dirt with the rest of them. Ah, well, everyone has secrets. His were none of her buisess.   
  
"No."  
  
She was quite broke, and only getting drunk tonight off of the good humor of the bartender. They had an understanding of sorts. Like Carroll had with a lot of people. Mike sighed. Money was his first choice. But, he would always take sex as a second option. The smile was still hovering on his features.  
  
They left the club together. Banned to a silence almost deafening after hours in the club. The music played on in Carroll's head, through the meaningless discourse that almost always came before, or right after the glow of the drugs.   
  
* * *  
  
She was walking home. It was somewhere in the small hours of morning, and she was concentrating on walking down the sidewalk in a straight line, not tripping on her heels, and steering around lamp posts. It had been too long, she thought vaugely. She was perhaps 18. Three years of this life. She had gotten more proffessional. She could take care of deals more efficiently, with a better understanding of the rules that the higher-ups played by. The light was fading, and it left her cold inside. She felt herself slipping into hopelessness, like she seemed to be doing more and more often. If only...  
  
~If only someone could help her be free of the cold inside..~   
  
She cried out in surprise as she ran into someone. She had been so tangled up in her thoughts she hadn't noticed him. She raised her eyes to his face, and the apology she had in mind died on her lips. Something akin to fear clenched inside of her, and she took a few steps back.   
  
He was handsome, on a second glance, but the first thing that came to mind was 'threatening'. Long, slightly messy raven hair pulled out of his eyes with the aid of a red bandanna. He was dressed in casual black, but his stature seemed to make the slacks and simple turtleneck look formal. His left arm was replaced by a rather scary metal claw from the elbow down. And his eyes...they were really what made her back up. Intense scarlet, and hard, as if trained to remain so, and not show anything of his soul.  
  
"Excuse me."  
  
The apology was quiet, dignified. Unfeeling. She just watched him for a moment, and then managed a mumbled response.  
  
"No, my fault, I wasn't watching where I was going."  
  
She suddenly felt a bit lightheaded, but figured it would pass, and walked past him as he nodded to her, and placed his hand in a pocket, continuing to walk. Suddenly Carroll's vision blurred drastically, and the pain of her head hitting the pavement was about the last thing that registered before the darkness set in.  
  
She awoke to the sun streaming through white curtains. How long had it been since she had seen acutal curtains? Or awoken to a bed this comfortable, for that matter. She rolled over and sat up, slowly, the normal, expected headache starting to pound its way into her skull. Shit. She looked around her. The walls were painted a depressing dark grey, but everything was clean. Very clean, actually, and neat. There was hardly anything personal about the place except for the books. Mostly on science, but there was everything from Greek classics to modern authors.   
  
She pulled off the dark purple and black patterned comforter and noted with relief that she was still dressed and in the same physical condition she had been in last night. The random furnature made her smile with it's obiousness. Even this comforter, which didn't really match anything in the room, practically screamed lonely bachelor. The only thing that made her question this observation was the level of cleansliness.   
  
But..she started to remember facts about the man who had most likely brought her here after she passed out. He seemed so emotionless, she was very surprised he hadn't just left her there. Maybe there was more then meets the eye, but...she could have sworn he had the eyes of a killer. She shook her head. Well in any case, he hadn't taken advantage of her, and that was something to his credit. She needed a shower, she felt filthy. She probably was. But more then that, she suddenly remembered that she was hungry.   
  
She got up, her bare feet padding softly on the cold floors. She opened the door of the room, and poked her head out. Sure enough there was a kitchen, almost right outside of the bedroom, a small living area with a set of dark burgandy couches, and similarly dark black carpeting, and a second room, which looked a little like a very small guest bedroom. Not a bad apartment at all. If it weren't for the fact that it was obviously in the slums of a not-so-attractive sector, she would have guessed the rent to be really expensive.  
  
She traveled across to the kitchen, again noticing how clean everything was. She pulled open the refridgerator. Well, at least there was good food. She was just about to help herself to something in the way of a sandwich when a thought caused her to pause. She was used to scrounging through other people's refridgerators, but the people she usually hung around were unsophisticated slobs. In fact, so was she. And this guy, whoever he was, didn't seem like the kind of person you wanted to piss off. So she closed the door of the fridge again, hesitantly, not really sure of what to do. Maybe just leaving would be best...  
  
"So you're awake."   
  
Carroll jumped a little, and turned around. Her usual flippant composure was a little lost around him. He was standing inoffensively in the doorway of the second bedroom, looking at her levelly. Slowly she built up a defense, and responded as casually as she could.  
  
"Yeah, I am."  
  
A pause, silence between the two.  
  
  
  
"Thank you for.."  
  
He cut her off.  
  
"Not nessessary. I made breakfast, if you're hungry."  
  
She nodded, and he pointed her towards the stove. A still-warm omlette was overed on the stove. And he told her, in the same toneless voice that there was orange juice in the refridgerator that she could help herself to. The cabinets were doorless, and obviously rendered that way after purchase, from the holes that the the removal of the hinges had left. She mused over this briefly, but then remembered that the man's left arm had been mechanically repaced, and figured that was a good enough reason. Made it easier to see where he kept the dishes anyways. He had disappeared again, after leaving her instructions, and she shrugged, sitting down to eat the omlette.  
  
It was maybe the best tasting food she'd ever eaten. Who knew you could cook an omlette like *this*? He must be a chef or something, she thought to herself, supressing a giggle at the idea. But maybe it was just that she never really got to eat fine cuisine. Hm. She finished it, and then drank two glasses of orange juice, which was fresh, or so she thought from the absence of that 'consentrate' ish taste.  
  
He re-emerged from his room, and walked around the other side of the table, and sat down wordlessly across from her. They regarded each other in slightly uncomfortable silence for a while.  
  
"So what's your name?"  
  
Carroll was the first one to break it.   
  
"Vincent Valentine. Yours?"  
  
"Carroll Lovette"  
  
More silence. She bit a black-painted fingernail agitatedly.  
  
"You should be more careful, Carroll."  
  
The tone was a little distainful, but there was true consern also, she could tell. He obviously wasn't such a bad guy after all. She nodded, and stood.  
  
"Thanks again. I should go.."  
  
He nodded once to her in seeming agreement, also a goodbye, and then those red eyes took on distant quality. She took one last look at him, and then turned and headed towards the door, slipping on her backless high heels, left on the ground, and closing the door of the apartment behind her.  
  
* * * 


	2. Frost

The night was dark, wrapped in velvet, ravenged by biting wind, frost on the ground and on the darkened storefront windows. Only the insane stood on the streets on a night like these. Beneath the lovely neon glow of their house of addictions.  
  
A gasp caught in her throat as she was slammed back against the wall. His lips pressed against hers crushingly, and she pushed him off of her violently, her fingers touching her bottom lip and her purple eyes smolderingly dangerous behind smuged, dark make-up. The grin had returned to his face as he caught his balance, standing up to his full height, almost two feet taller then her.   
  
"What the hell?"  
  
His red hair was messy, like it always was, framing pale, flawless flesh. Suddenly his posture changed, he appeared less agressive, and took just one step back towards her.   
  
"Sorry,"  
  
The apology was so insincere behind that constant smirk. Jonas's trademark Cheshire grin.  
  
"But I couldn't help myself. You look lovely tonight.."  
  
She glared at him in repressed fury. He had been getting more liberal with her, and she resented it like hell. The others were different. She would sleep with them then leave, and never see them again. It hgave her time to try to burn them from her memory. He was a constant in her life. Constant annoyance, constant presence. Constant fear..  
  
"Fuck you. Don't touch me, I told you I wasn't doing buisness with you anymore."  
  
And yes, she was a little afraid of him. Perhaps more then she admitted to herself. He had been pressing it lately, his obvious infatuation with her maybe turning into something else. She looked around, calculating her surroundings. They were near the back of a newer club, she had been trying to dettach herself from her old connections and find new ones. It was good to keep moving, not to get too deep into the personal shit of the people you bought from. It would happen if you stayed in one place for too long. It had started to snow, and there was no one but the two of them in sight. Not good. But she had a handgun in a shoulderholster under the studded leather jacket she was wearing. The press of the cold metal into the thin fabric of her tank top was comforting.  
  
"Too good for me, hm? I've noticed you avoiding me."  
  
He tilted his head to one side. Looked at her, his green eyes glittering, carrying an emotion she couldn't quite trace.  
  
"You'll come crawling back, though, Carroll. I'll find you when you're helpless, don't worry."  
  
Her eyes widened just a little as he moved closer, closing the distance between them and kissed her again, her neck this time. She tolerated it until one of his hands touched her waist, and started to slide up under her shirt. His hands were cold, gloveless despite the weather. She kneed him in the stomach, as hard as she could, then pushed him. He fell down on the pavement of the parking lot backwards, catching himself with his hands, then wincing, and wrapping his arms around himself, trying to catch the breath that had been knocked out of him. He seemed so delicate sometimes, so dangerous at others. It was one of the things that made Carroll wary of him.  
  
"Bastard. Stop following me if you know what's good for you."  
  
She walked away, chilled.  
  
~  
  
God, she was beautiful. He was watching her walk away, spike heels clicking against the street, leather mini skirt riding up just a little over her curves. He wanted her, she had always been his favorite. But.. she wasn't easy like the others. Physically, yes. She had slept with him countless times. When she was desperate for drugs. He held the key to her release, to manipulating her addiction. But she hated him, he could see it in her eyes when he touched her. He wanted her in a different way. He wanted to break her of that cool exterior. Maybe it was just his sense of possessiveness. He was very much of a child when it came to that.  
  
He smirked. Someday. He turned, his arms wrapped around himself against the bite of the winter frost, and walked back into the club by the back door. The rush of heat and pounding music made him dizzy, and he plunged into the crowd, losing himself as so many others did each night, in the chaotic mesh of bodies and sound and movement.  
  
~  
  
"Come on, just tonight. It's fucking 20 degrees... Please. You know I don't beg you for sympathy a lot. But I have no where to go.."  
  
Carroll was standing in the motel lobby. The elderly woman who owned the place was turning hard eyes on her.   
  
"Too bad. You should have gotten a real job, you damn junkie. I told you it would be available, but only if you pay. Now get out, I'm closing up."  
  
"But..."  
  
She had nothing to argue with, nothing to promise. At least it wasn't snowing anymore. It was true, she had dug herself a pretty deep hole. It had been a week since her encounter with Judas behind the club. He had effectively been spreading lies about her. He was still an ameture, but in the months she had known him, subtle, but steady changes had been occuring. His circle was getting bigger. His descisions were smarter, though still as reckless. He had been, it seemed to her, doing better. She frowned. He was using his connections to cut her off. Damn scheming asshole. And now she had nowhere to go, having picked fights with too many people.  
  
She was forced out of the nicely heated loby back into the freezing night air. In summer, she would have just slept on the street. But if she had to do that, she would freeze to death. She coughed a few times, and rubbed her arms to attempt some warmth. She started to walk, brisquely, her mind turning over hopeless options.  
  
Then she remembered him. Vincent. It was desperation, a strand of hope. He had let her stay a night in her apartment. They knew each other's names. Maybe...  
  
She found herself staring at the door to his apartment. She lifted her hand and knocked. It was only 10, he shouldn't be sleeping.  
  
He wasn't. He was up reading, by the light of a small lamp standing on a table by the couch. His black hair fell over his face, head bent down and legs crossed under him, barefoot, completely engrossed in the material he was scanning. The knock shattered his concentration and his head snapped up, his good hand reaching instinctively for the revolver on the gun belt he wasn't wearing. Then he relaxed, and marked his place in the book, standing and walking across the carpeted floor to the door. He really had no idea who it could be. No one he knew would come to his apartment. He had no friends or relatives..   
  
He opened the door, and found himself looking at a petite dark haired girl, wearing substantially less then it required to keep oneself warm in the weather. He regarded her with some suspicion.  
  
"What do you want?"  
  
"I..I know its an awkward request, since I don't really know you and all, but..."  
  
"You want to stay here?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"No. Find a homeless shelter or something, this isnt a charity."  
  
The door closed again, and he slid two bolts back in place. She had gotten the wrong idea about him. One was all right. He had felt involved, he couldn't just leave her, she was helpless there. But twice was a commitment. And Vincent didn't like ties.  
  
"Vincent..."  
  
She knocked again, more softly.  
  
"Don't say my name like that. We aren't on a first-name basis. Go away."  
  
His tone was cold, it was easy to slip back into. He had a mask of proffessionalism that was always at hand when he needed it. From all those years working as a Turk, and later with Avalanche. Outside, Carroll coughed another few times, the air in her lungs feeling like icy needles, and tears rising in her eyes. Then she pressed her back to the wall near his door and slid down it to the floor, hugging her knees close and closing her eyes.   
  
Vincent waited. Silence. However, he could tell she hadn't left. Tsk. Taking care of some prostitute wasn't on his agenda. He sighed, and went back to the couch, picking up his book again. However, the text went completely over his head as the thought of the tempature outside snuck into his thoughts. She might die if just left there. He hadn't missed the occasional coughs, they sounded serious. He raked his hand back through his long black hair and frowned down at the pages of his book. What to do...  
  
Carroll looked up as the door re-opened. Then she let her head drop again, seized in another fit of shivering. She had only been out here for 10 minutes, but she was almost immobile, the cold having seeped into her, numbing her past the point of pain. She had even started to feel a little bit warm...sleepy. She had been struggling to keep her eyes open when she heard the click of the bolts being pulled back. Then an absence of gravity, she noted that he had picked her up. She didn't even feel the tempature change as she was carried inside and placed on the couch. She winced the one time she met those eyes...colder then the night outside, and looking pretty angry that he was being forced into this. She lowered her own lashes, wanting to apologize, but not capable of speaking.  
  
The feeling started to return. It hurt. She awoke about a half an hour later to the pain. A splitting headache, and her fingers and feet burning from the reutrning circluation. She curled up on the couch beneath the blanket she had been given and cried silently. Vincent was nowhere in sight, and she was a little glad, self consciousness creeping in around the pain, as it dulled. She felt ashamed of herself, in a different way then usual. These moods were usually provoked by her just being to disgusted with her own destructive behavior to stand it.. But this time it was shame of not being a decent human being. As if being around this man, Vincent, made her somehow see what she was lacking.   
  
With these thoughts twisting their way through her tortured mind, sleep finally saved her, and she fell into warm darkness once again.  
  
AN: Sorry if this seemned a little cut short, I stopped writing a bit before mym ideas had run out for this segment..but I waited too long to continue it, and forgot ^^; oh well. Next chapter'll be up in a week or so. Jonas and his many many problems ^^  
  
Also...Thank you to Crisis_Cherubium for the nice review! This chapter is dedicated to you, then, as my only supporter to date. ^_^ If you like this you should read the inspiration for it, The Darker Side of my Heart. It's more artistic I think ^^; and more centered on Vincent. And yes, he rocks my world too. ^_~ 


End file.
